Brandy and Brown Eyes
by amieofabc
Summary: Enjolras asks more questions than he should've after Grantaire's morbid "Drink With Me" speech. There is one answer he might like, though. My first Les Miz fic, I hope you enjoy it. M/M lies within, don't like that, don't read this. Rated T for language. Also should mention this Enjolras is based off Ramin Karimloo since that apparently upsets people.


He drank; everyone knew that, it was practically his signature characteristic. But before Enjolras nobody had ever asked why. Nobody wondered what would drive Grantaire to keep a bottle in his hand at all times except for him. He remembered when Enjolras had asked him, out of sheer, morbid curiosity. For the life of him he couldn't remember his answer, probably some joke about ugly girls, but the look of concern in those eyes stuck with him. He hadn't noticed until that moment that they were brown.

That same concern was there again now; Grantaire just hadn't noticed it yet. He was trying his hardest not to look at Enjolras, not knowing what it would do to him. He couldn't really afford to break down in front of a dozen students, and that man had an irritating way of disarming him. But the students looked to him, after all they were singing about drinking, and it bothered him. What did they expect, for him to cheer them up? He was no optimistic fool ready to put a smile on their faces by finding the light in a dark situation-as if he even could-and he wasn't…well, he wasn't Enjolras, ready to play on their fury to stir up hope and determination. So he told all them why he drank, explained his fear of being forgotten forever, of knowing that tomorrow his life would end.

For the most part, they ignored it because they wanted to. Nobody likes to be reminded they'll likely be dead before they see another night. _"I shouldn't have said anything." _he thought, looking over their worn faces. They needed optimism, not cynicism.

He turned the wrong way when he stood to leave.

If he had turned to his right he could've stumbled out to set his mind in order on his own. As it was he turned to the left and found himself staring straight at Enjolras, who was leaning on his musket and staring right back with an expression almost like anger on his face. And those eyes. Those damn eyes were boring right into Grantaire and he couldn't stay in the café any longer, not with the thought of never seeing those eyes again. He wanted nothing more now than to run away from all of them, to never have to think of their lives and revolutions and guns and sparkling brown eyes again; to just lie in the dark with his brandy and forget every last bit of it.

If only Enjolras hadn't grabbed him on the way out.

"I'm leaving now. Just let me." No answer. "Enjolras… please."

"No. I'm not leaving you alone, not again. Now you can tell me where you're staying and we can talk, or I can drag you off to where I'm staying. Your choice."

Grantaire would never know if it was the brandy or his own stupidity that made his hand curve up around the back of his friend's head; that made his fingers twist through the dark curls of his hair for a moment before his arm finally dropped, but he didn't really care. It was answer enough for Enjolras, who lead him out of the café towards the inn down the way.

"Drink." the revolutionary thrust a glass at the drunk.

"Isn't that what got us into this?"

"It's water, Grantaire. You can't be hung over tomorrow. Now what was the hell was that?" he joined him on the mattress.

"I don't know." he muttered dully.

"Really. You just pulled the most morbid speech I've ever heard from any of those students-let alone YOU-out of your ass? Do you know what state we're in, how important keeping up morale is?"

"I do. And I'm sorry."

"That doesn't explain why you did it." Silence broken only by breathing filled the room. "Well? Look at me, Grantaire! Why is that so hard for you lately?"

"You were the only one that cared." He said finally, quietly.

"What?"

"Feuilly and Joly never asked me how I was. Combferre and Couferrac never bothered either. None of them asked why I drank and they certainly never tried to stop me. It was always just you, you know? You were the one telling me to put the bottle down, asking if I was alright, looking out for me. So I decided to listen to you. And you know, for a long time there I really believed you, you talk a fantastic talk."

"Grantaire-"

"But I see it now, even if you refuse to. The people aren't going to help us, and you know as well as I that without the people we cannot win, you said it yourself! This is the last night of my life, Enjolras. I've accepted that. Is it my fault that they haven't?"

He still wasn't looking at Enjolras, not directly. "Grantaire, you…you don't know that. The people are oppressed just like us, they will rise!"

"Don't fool yourself." Grantaire muttered bitterly. "If they were ever behind us they'd have shown it sooner."

"Then we'll take them all on ourselves. We succeeded today, didn't we? We can do it again!"

Grantaire shook his head. "I can feel it. We have too little. Too few men, not enough ammunition, no medical care…" he let his head fall into his hands.

Two callused fingers curled under Grantaire's chin, pushing his face upward. "Grantaire, why won't you look at me?"

"Please don't make me answer that."

"I won't. Just…please, open your eyes." He knew what he'd find, but how could he refuse? And sure enough, there were those brown eyes, closer to his own than they'd ever been in his memory. "Grantaire, are you really afraid that your death means nothing?"

He chuckled darkly. "Why would it mean anything? Who would mourn a penniless drunkard who died fighting some silly student's battle?"

"It would mean the world to some."

Another laugh so sad it might as well have been a sob. "That so? Like who?"

"Gavroche? You know he looks up to you."

"Some role model he's got."

Enjolras ignored him. "Marius. You were one of his first friends at the university. And Leroy? He'd have been lost without you helping him study history!"

"Weak."

"Well what about me?"

"You?"

He sighed. "It's not as if I were pretending to care, Grantaire. I care a great deal about you. This is why it bothers me that you can't seem to look at me lately. Why is that?"

He is lost yet again in Enjolras' stare. It is that fiery gaze that first attracted Grantaire to him, but how could he ever explain it?

"I…I look at you and I realize what this revolution really means, Enjolras, that lives and futures hang in the balance. And then I think about what it means for my own life and I think…"

"What? 'Taire, you can tell me, you know that."

Tears pricked at his eyes. He hadn't ever forced himself to really think over what it meant that he shivered in those quiet moments poring over books at the university when they'd sat too close and he could feel the other man's breath on his arm, or the strange ache in his chest that came when he slung his arm casually over his shoulders, always talking with that beautiful fire ablaze in his eyes.

"I think…what am I going to do if I never get to see Enjolras again? How…how would I survive without you?"

He expected Enjolras to jump back. Instead he inched forward and Grantaire shuddered involuntarily. "You'd be fine. You're stronger than you think."

He shook his head. "You don't understand."

"You're right." Enjolras muttered with a note of frustration, "I don't understand because you won't tell me a thing. So please, as you've said, we don't have much time left and I want-"

His sentence was left unfinished by a sudden whiff of brandy and pressure on his lips.

"I…Grantaire-"

"Shit, Enjolras, that's why I couldn't tell you-"

"I understand."

"…what?"

"I mean, I think I do-"

"I love you."

Enjolras blinked in surprise. "It's…it's that serious?"

Grantaire nodded solemnly. "Have I ruined everything yet?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment. "Not even close." He stepped forward once more, carefully placing a hand on Grantaire's shoulder. "I just wish you'd told me earlier."


End file.
